


Five touches that could have been sexual + one that was entirely their own thing

by freedomfrenzy



Series: 5+1 Person of Interest [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships, aromantic John Reese, asexual finch, eventually, flirting as a game of chicken, i promise that it's not as sexual as it sounds, im an aroace i couldnt write smut if i TRIED, this is a qpr thing, well THAT was gayer than i expected, working out a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:18:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freedomfrenzy/pseuds/freedomfrenzy
Summary: Five times John and Finch touched in ways that could have been sexual, plus one that definitely isn't that.





	1. Cheek to cheek

**Author's Note:**

> For Kadian, during kay's convalescence.

“Good morning Finch.”

The man doesn’t look up, engrossed in the screens before him. So, they’ve finally passed the need for unnecessary niceties. “Good morning Mr Reese.”

“New number, I take it?” John hangs up his coat and wanders over, rolling up his cuffs absentmindedly. Finch’s programs are still running, but there’s files open on the right and centre screens. 

“Indeed. I received it only a few minutes ago, so I’m afraid I’m still running my checks on her.”

John leans over Finch’s shoulder to read the student ID on the centre screen. “Kadian DeWitt, twenty three, anthropology student, NYU.” He tilts his head to look at the enrolment records, bringing his cheek into contact with Finch’s. Hardly something John would have even considered, except that Finch inhales sharply at the contact. Now that is interesting, and he considers it, even as he reads. “Decent grades, _and_ she’s a potential honours candidate. My big question is, what kind of name is Kadian?”

Finch seems frozen in place, and takes a heartbeat too long to respond. “I believe it’s most common use is a brand name for extended release morphine. An odd name for a parent to- ah!”

A chart opens on the leftmost screen. John turns, deliberately pressing in a little closer. There’s no mistaking the intention behind this contact. Finch tenses further, but keeps his breath from stuttering. “Medical records for yesterday. Our girl is in hospital?”

“I think Kadian might be male, Mr Reese.” John pulls back to get a better view of the report, frowning. “Kadian appears to be in post operation observation following a chest reconstruction. And here we go, his health insurance provider has classified it as gender affirmation surgery.”

“Well, that explains the name.” John takes his coat back off the hook. Teasing Finch further will have to wait if he wants to get eyes on someone in hospital. “Now, what kind of trouble can a guy barely out of surgery possibly have gotten into?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Kadian would like ppl to know that the implication that kay named kayself after morphine is untrue but that kay finds it hilarious.


	2. Full body restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not the time to panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kadian.
> 
> Friends, ngl, this got a _lot_ gayer than I was planning.

This is not the time to panic.

Sometimes Finch wishes criminals would just stick to being average intelligence thugs, with gun bulges so obvious that John can disarm them without being noticed and using their own phones and laptops, maybe on public WiFi if they want to be clever. Let John do the legwork and if he has to shoot someone’s kneecaps…it’s unfortunate, but it doesn’t risk their operation. At least he’s not killing anyone. 

But bad people evolve as fast as the technology does. Which is why he and John are now running- and limping, Finch is realistic about his limitations- for their lives, because a team of contract killers hired some bright-eyed fool to build a closed network for their work, meaning Finch must be on-site to break in. Sure, he’s managed to install a back door in their system that incoming police should find useful when hunting down the rest of the killers and their employers, and sure, now they know exactly who their number was targeting, but now John is pulling Finch down a fire escape. He takes a moment to close the window, but Finch doesn’t get far down before he catches up. 

It doesn’t seem prudent to rely on Fusco, but Finch does hope he arrives _before_ their gun wielding pursuers finds them.

The window they climbed out of is wretched open so loudly Finch can hear the glass rattle from two flights down. John grabs his shoulder before he can start down the next flight and pushes him flat against the wall. If they aren’t seen, maybe the men chasing them will think they’ve gone another way. Certainly, if they aren’t seen they can’t get shot. John eases his body over Finch’s. His charcoal jacket blends better with the dark brick than Finch’s silver-grey. And it provides Finch with another few seconds to escape if they are seen, John’s life an extra layer of painfully won protection. 

Shouts and banging drift down to them. Alarm, anger, a half dozen voices all trying to be heard at once. 

“How about you drop that gun before old buddy Kane here gets jumpy and shoots you, huh?” Neither of them will ever admit it, but every now and then they’re glad to heard Detective Fusco’s voice. Someone slams the window shut. John’s gun starts to rise, but there’s no clattering to suggest a panicked flight and he returns it to his holster. 

Finch expects John to step away- they do very much need to leave before the police properly secure the scene- but John never does what’s expected of him. He pulls back just enough to contain Finch rather than crush him, hands bracketing Finch’s arms. Finch takes a breath to ask what the problem is and realises John is no longer craning his head to watch the fire escape. He’s watching Finch with dark, amused eyes.

Finch’s heart skips and the bottom of his stomach drops away. Suddenly he is acutely aware of every point of contact between them, thighs to chest pressed together. 

“Detective Fusco appears to be handling our pursuers,” Finch says instead, amazed at the steadiness of his voice.

John grins, face closer than it needs to be. “Oh definitely,” he breathes out, words warm against Finch’s ear. He shows no sign of moving.

A new line between them is being examined, Finch realises. He’s being tested. It strikes him as a bad time to back down, which is why he doesn’t look away. “It’s time for us to go, Mr Reese,” he says, as evenly as he can manage. He holds John’s eyes and doesn’t move an inch until John is the one to step away. 

The time to panic is going to be much later.


	3. Wrist grabbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John snoops, no one should be surprised. Somehow they both still are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kadian.
> 
> Sorry for the lack of updates over the weekend, I had work and Angst to handle. But I'm back!

When John enters the library, he finds Finch isn’t at his station. Concern twists in his belly, but then he hears a distant rustling from somewhere amongst the shelves and relaxes. Hangs his coat and takes the opportunity to rifle through the papers his employer has left on the desk. 

There’s nothing personal in them, there never is. Finch is far too careful to leave out anything he doesn’t want John to find. All John can uncover that’s out of the ordinary is a slightly discolored school photo of a young girl- Indian, if John had to guess- that has been written on with red pen by someone with a heavier hand than Finch. 

“Mr Reese.” Finch has returned from his search amongst the shelves. He covers his surprise quickly. “You’re early.”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he agrees amicably. “We have a new number?”

“Yes.” John willingly gives up the seat to Finch; he deliberately nudges Finch with his hip to test for a reaction, and surreptitiously palming the photo. “Pushpa Laghari. The eldest daughter of a Pakistani emigrant and an Armenian wife.” He pushes his glasses up, and John has a brief urge to reach over and push them down again, just to tease him. “Pushpa is seventeen, two younger siblings.” Finch lifts the stack of papers, searching for something. “She’s been enrolled for the last two years at…”

“Fiorello H. LaGuardia. Talented kid.” John holds up the photo. “Something you want to share, Harold?”

“It’s not relevant.” Finch snatches the slip of paper out of John’s hand. Quick as an eye blink, John’s other hand closes around his wrist. The irritated response Finch is start to reply dies in his throat. John smirks. 

“Snatching is rude, Harold.”

“So is going through other people’s belongings, Mr Reese.” 

John’s grip doesn’t loosen. He holds Finch’s eyes with his own, steady and clear with intent. Finch is wary, afraid even, and if that were all, John would stop at once. But Finch is also tilting his head slightly, his tell of taking up a challenge. And with all the power in their dynamic concentrated in Finch’s hands, he hasn’t ever hesitated to tell John when to stop.

He hasn’t said stop now. 

John brushes a thumb along the inside of Finch’s wrist, and feels Finch’s pulse fluttering. Wonders how far Finch would let him push. 

But he has to consider the possibility that Finch wouldn’t stop him at all. And with a fresh number to hand, that possibility makes now a bad time. 

So John lets go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with the tone here, I feel like it shifts abruptly and also, I _swear_ there isn't going to be smut. It just...feels like there is. And I don't want to disappoint anyone.


	4. Hand to stomach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finch realises too late that if this isn't a game, he doesn't want to be playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kadian.

Their latest number works on Wall Street and John’s current wardrobe is simply not up to the task. Finch is familiar with all John’s suits- he paid for them after all- and knows that even his best will need alterations. Adjustments to his shirt and jacket pass without incident, but when it comes time to work on his trousers, Finch realises he has a chance to even the score between them. And he intends to make full use of the opportunity. 

John inhales sharply as he very carefully lowers himself to his knees. He glances up and sees John’s expression caught between concern and consternation. On one hand, Finch is touched, but on the other, he’s exasperated. Certainly, he’s enjoyed being on the receiving end of John’s flirtations, but did John think only one of them could play at this game?

“I may not be a government assassin, Mr Reese,” he says archly, “but I assure you, I’m not wholly incapable.”

The skin around John’s eyes crinkles and he chuckles quietly. “Thought never crossed my mind.”

He’s recovered his equilibrium far too quickly for Finch’s liking, but the means to address this are right in front of Finch. Quite literally. It requires Finch to be more forward than he usually likes, so he glances down at his alterations supplies. This gives him a moment to steel himself, then reaches up and braces his arm over John’s abdomen. Beneath his arm John’s abdominal muscles tense in shock, he can just feel the jut of a hipbone under his flattened palm. Very deliberately, he runs his other hand down John’s leg from thigh to knee, ostensibly smoothing out creases in the high-quality wool. 

It’s an entirely unnecessary action, and Finch feels a sharp twinge of satisfaction at John’s startled hiss. 

“What are you doing, Harold?” John breathes, and he makes the mistake of looking up. 

John is staring at him, eyes dark with something like desire, and Finch jerks back. The flood of dismay that crashes over him completely overwhelms the corresponding jolt in his stomach, his face feels numb with horror. What he’s just done, just intimated to his employee, to _John_. It was the very height of foolishness. And John’s reaction. Finch looks down again, unable to maintain eye contact. John’s expression is almost _hungry_. This game John’s been playing, Finch realises, might not have been a game after all. 

“Finch.” John hasn’t raised his voice a decibel, but Finch can hear the change. The concern is back. 

“It’s nothing, Mr Reese.” He swallows back everything he’s feeling. “I apologise. There’s nothing.”

Without looking up, he can feel John appraising him. He focuses on the hem of John’s trousers. Doesn’t touch it, even though he can see it needs correction. It was his decision to complicate the situation and he must wait for John’s cue. What John is willing to accept right now. 

Silence stretches out between them.

“Alright Finch.” He dares to glance up. John’s brow is furrowed, but there’s no anger in his eyes on Finch. “Then tell me. What’s wrong with my other suits?”


	5. Front to back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow and some time to clear the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kadian.

It’s snowing out. Maybe that’s why they haven’t received a number, everyone is waiting for better weather. It’s near impossible to clean up all the blood when the ground is slush. John’s heading to the library anyway. 

Finch is at the window, looking out through the construction façade to the people on the street below. He turns to acknowledge John when he arrives, but then returns to the stream of humanity braving the snow. People watching. It always throws John a little, to catch Finch watching people with eyes rather than cameras, but it’s not uncommon. For all his paranoia, Finch has a limitless interest in, and affection for, people. 

John stands behind Finch, making a conscious effort to broadcast his movements- or at least, not be entirely silent. It works, he knows it does because Finch’s head lifts slightly and what he can make out of the man’s reflection is watching him. John deliberately lines their bodies up, hip to shoulder- as much as their height difference will allow. He’d like to bring his hands up to settle on Finch’s waist, but restrains himself, waiting for a reaction. 

He’s right to be cautious because Finch immediately tenses. Something between them, something about this, has changed. So, although John would like to stay where he is, he eases back. Not far, just enough that there’s physical space between them. 

Finch doesn’t relax. His reflection refuses to meet John’s eyes, and beneath that veneer of detachment he looks unwell, almost afraid.

“Harold.” The reflection closes its eyes. John wants to force Finch to turn so he can observe at him properly, but if Finch wanted to be facing him, he would. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The side of Finch’s face shifts as his jaw tightens. When the words come, they’re slow, worked over, pried from the secretive nature by self-recrimination. “I’ve always found people to be largely incomprehensible. Thought processes, behaviours, once a pattern is isolated they can be inferred, but humans always retain an element of…irrationality. Unpredictability, even for the cleverest machine. Fuzzy logic.” He falls silent.

Interrogation rules dictate waiting the silence out, but Finch isn’t a suspect. He’s a friend. And John feels the need to offer some indication that he’s paying attention. “You created The Machine, and it seems to do pretty well.”

“The Machine also uses fuzzy logic. Part of its programming includes accounting for a subject’s history of deviations from anticipated behaviour.” Even so clearly troubled by something human, Finch cannot help preening over The Machine. “If you were to ask it to predict every single decision an individual would make in a day, it would eventually make an error. But that’s not what it does. It looks for patterns it _knows_ indicate a potential threat, then assesses the likelihood of such a threat arising.”

“And it’s never wrong.”

“No, it isn’t.” Again Finch is quiet. “I’m not- There are patterns of behaviour any human can recognise. Acts of retribution. Ambition.” His throat works soundlessly. “Attraction. I can see these patterns, but I don’t always understand what they mean. How real they are to people.” Finch is flinching from his own words. “To you, Mr Reese.” That pulls John up short. He’d thought he’d worked out what Finch was afraid to tell him, but no. Somehow this is about John? “And I’m afraid that I may have encouraged you to believe I returned a certain…interest.”

John parses the halting admission with care. He is acutely aware of how fragile the gift he’s been offered is; Finch’s trust is a rare thing. To not destroy it, he needs to understand what Finch is saying. Some of the pieces seem to come together easily enough, so he rolls the dice on them. “Are you trying to tell me,” he asks slowly, “that you don’t want to have sex with me?”

Some of the normal Finch returns, the patient distaste. “To put it in such crude terms, no, I do not want to have sex.” 

John notes the distinction, but he also sees Finch’s gaze flit down, the very slight way he hunches in on himself. Finch’s affirmation was hard won against himself; John can press for details another time. Careful to keep his voice curious rather than accusatory, he asks, “And you expect me to have a problem with this?”

Finch scowls, still not looking at John, even in the window. “It has occurred to me that your…flirtation may have been more genuine than my own.”

Oh. _Oh._ Now Finch’s caginess makes sense. He’s feeling _guilty_. Relief uncurls in John’s belly. “Maybe it is,” he admits casually. “But.” He waits until Finch looks up, holding his gaze steadily. “Maybe I don’t need to do anything more with it. Maybe I just like touching you.”

John keeps his eyes locked on Finch’s face in the window as he closes the gap between them again, searching for any indication he needs to stop. Finch’s back is a solid line of warmth against John’s chest, his shoulder is an excellent height for John to rest his chin on. “So. Do you want me to stop?” Finch’s breath catches, and John tilts his head to watch him. “Because I can.”

The silence holds long enough that John is about to take it as a yes. Then the breath shudders out of Finch, along with most of his tension. “No, Mr Reese,” he admits. “I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I know shit all about AI and fuzzy logic, other than what my dad tries to explain to me, but then I know shit all about flirting and yet here we are. My apologies to anyone who actually knows anything about either of these subjects. I have also never seen snow, as I am from a very hot Australian town. Snow sounds amazing.


	6. Feet in lap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kadian.
> 
> This has been sitting in my drafts all week and I've been wanting to flesh it out, but also every time I try, I get stuck on how to retain the humour. So I'm posting as is and when I have more time (read: when I'm not writing a gift series most days) I'm planning to come back and edit. Sorry for any disappointment.

“Mr Reese.”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean, Harold?” 

“I mean, why are your feet in my lap?”

“Maybe I want them there.”

“Well, you can take them out.” 

John leaves them there just long enough to suggest that he doesn’t take orders, then lifts his feet and replaces them on the floor without a word. Silence falls between them until, without looking up, Finch adds, “Next time, Mr Reese, take your shoes off first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I gotta get it out there. I cannot believe I have completed a series. Is this...an attention span? But seriously, thank you to everyone who has read and commented, especially talkingtothesky for commenting on every chapter. Like, friends, I cannot tell you how much I've been squeeing at people over getting comments and kudos. 
> 
> In the next day or two, I'll post the first part of a companion piece focussing on romantic touching. Hope to see you there! <3


End file.
